Damnation
The boy stood in front of him with his wide pleading eyes and snot running down his chin. He tried to ignore the little bastard, but it was no use. He wouldn't budge until he'd make him go away.
The child started to loosen the collar of his faded blue shirt enough to reveal the purple marks on his neck. He took another swig of cold beer. There was no anger boiling in his chest, not anymore, yet he could feel the burning in his hands, trembling in remembered anticipation of the moment they'd grip the kid's delicate neck. 'Damned boy, he had no right to talk to me like that!'
His sweaty hands grabbed the air where the neck should've been and squeezed hard until the boy vanished as swiftly as he had appeared. He'll be back tomorrow. He always did.
The bartender noticed the old ex-con was at it again.
'Stop doing that, Hank, or I'll throw you out'.
'The kid, my boy was here again', Hank mumbled. A bitter cry swelled his chest. Twenty years gone and he still had to face the child every single day.
'Oh, go to hell, drunken fool.'
'I'm already there.'
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